Break This Curse
by ohmycroft
Summary: Lestrade is on a holiday, and he has a new replacement - a woman Sherlock had never seen before. But she's different - on their very first investigation togehter, she solved the crime before he managed to make any deductions. Sherlock hates ordinary people, but he hates clever ones with secrets even more. What is she hiding? Inspired by the song 'Curse' by Imagine Dragons.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock and John entered the Scotland Yard building as usual – Sherlock was walking quickly, and John was half-running trying to catch up with him. Sherlock was excited – after a while of being bored, Lestrade finally texted him and asked for his help.

"Oh, great. The freak's here." Donovan said and looked away in disgust as the men approached.

"Would you stop calling him that way?" John asked irritated.

"Only if he'll stop _acting_ like one."

John moaned.

"Well, so why are we here?" he asked more loudly. Somehow, every time they talked to Donovan she managed to get on his nerves.

"We… We need you." it seemed hard for her to admit that.

'Where's Lestrade?" Sherlock asked impatiently. He did not come here to chat with Donovan.

"He's away. We asked him to call you."

"Who will I work with, then?"

"Me." a woman called from behind. She was walking quickly towards them, almost as quickly as Sherlock's pace. Her straight hair had the colour of a wild fire, and she shoved it behind her ears as she walked.

"And who exactly are you?"

"This is Detective Inspector Williams." Donovan introduced. She seemed just a bit afraid of her, for some reason.

"Please, call me Roxanne. Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes." she shook his hand. She was stronger than she seemed.

"Sherlock." He ignored the fact that she knew who he was. She probably read John's blog. Everyone in the Scotland Yard did.

"And you are?" she asked in clear confusion as she looked at John. If she read his blog, she would recognize him. Then how _did_ she know him? She clearly haven't visited his website, for he mentions John there very frequently.

"John. John Watson." he shook her hand as well. He was more surprised by her strength than Sherlock. She didn't have any noticeable mussels.

"Alright, so what's the case?" the detective became bored again.

"I just got here as well. Donovan?" she turned to face her.

"I'll take you there."


	2. Chapter 2

The four of them entered a library that was right next to a courtroom. Donovan first, Roxanne behind her, and the men following them. A woman was lying on the floor, with her face down. Her hair was absorbed with her blood. She was wearing black clothes and black heels. There was a large wooden cupboard behind her.

"Her body was found by the librarian. She opened the cupboard and she fell out of it."

Sherlock bent down next to the body and started deducing it.

"Did Lestrade really ask for his help on this one? It's completely transparent." Roxanne said only after a few seconds. Sherlock stood up, surprised. She was quicker than him.

"I'm sorry, _transparent?_" Donovan asked, startled.

"Of course."

"Do you mind explaining?" Donovan knew she was good, but she didn't expect her to be faster than the freak.

"The cause of death is clearly a hit to her head, since it's the only injury she has, and by the fact he skull is partly shattered. The hit was made neither by a blunt object, nor by a sharp one. It was a flat one, with a round shape. Look at her clothes. They're too formal – no one wears only one colour. Besides, look around! The next room is a courtroom. So, she clearly has to be either a judge. Now back to the murder weapon – no one kills by a hit to the head. Therefore, this murder was unplanned, spontaneous. What object has a flat and round end and is found near a judge? The judge's hammer, of course. There's not enough blood in the cupboard nor on the floor in order for her to be killed here, so the murder occurred somewhere else, probably in the next room, judging by the murder weapon. The killer was talking to this woman, got angry, grabbed the hammer and hit her in the head. After he realized what he had done, he dragged her body to the next room and put her in the cupboard. Then, the killer went to conceal the murder weapon. It was probably a man, judging by how instinctively he acted. He was nervous, he wanted to get rid of the evidence. But his nerves blurred his rational thinking, so he must've thrown it in one of the near dumpsters. Send someone to look for it. Should be wooden, small, and covered in blood. Can't miss it." she spoke rapidly.

Donovan stared at her for a few moments. She was shocked by the ease she understood all of this information.

"Now." she urged her, as she saw she isn't moving. Donovan hurried out of the room.

"How did you make the deduction so quickly?" Sherlock asked in both confusion and jealousy.

"Don't try to compare us, Sherlock, for we do different things. You search for scraps of information, and put the pieces together to make out what happened. I, on the other hand, simply _see_ all of the information I need. I don't have to look for it in the tiniest details. And as I see the information, I see how it happened. It doesn't take as much as doing what you do." she said haughtily.

Sherlock frowned. Yes, she was arrogant, but she beaten him.

"How did you know who I was?" it was time he'll get an answer for that question.

"Family resemblance. As different as you are, there's still something similar about you two."

Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to ask her how she knows his brother, Donovan came back to the room. She didn't fully enter it, but she leaned in and called out: "We found it. Just where you said we would."

"Check for fingerprints and DNA. Remember the murder was unplanned, so the killer is unlikely to wear any gloves."

Donovan nodded and left the room. Roxanne glanced at her watch.

"Anything else you need help with?" Sherlock asked impatiently. Not only he was just beaten in his own game, he was also still bored.

"It seemed your help isn't as useful as Lestrade thinks it is. You can go now." she smiled sarcastically.

Sherlock clearly got annoyed. It was very easy to annoy him. Ordinary idiot people always did. But she was undoubtedly intelligent. Why did she try so hard to be arrogant?

"Oh no." John muttered quietly, as he saw Sherlock's eyes scan her, like they always did every time he tried to show off.

"You studied psychology, that's why you're so good at this. You used to be a wrestler, judging by your finger's joints, but you quitted. You're older than you look, but you use make up to hide it. You have a lunch date scheduled today, but you hoped working on this case would take longer so you'd have to miss it. Probably a date with an unwanted man. Am I right?"

She laughed humourlessly.

"Well, you _are_ good when it comes to the livings. But I work with the dead, so your help isn't needed as much." she said and started walking towards the door. Just as she reached it, she turned back to the men. "I mean, everything you said about me was wrong, but still – _very_ good." She smiled and left.

Sherlock kept staring at the exit for a few moments.

"Sherlock?"

"I was wrong. I'm never wrong." he said and frowned.

"Maybe she lied and said you were wrong just to upset you."

"No, she wouldn't do that. You can't win the game by lying. She really did defeat me." he hated to admit that, but he did.

"How does she know your brother?"

"I have no idea."


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock sat on the chair, and looked out the window thoughtfully. He couldn't manage to understand how he could be completely wrong about that woman. He is _never_ wrong. Definitely not about everything.

"You're still sitting here?" John asked from behind.

"How did she do it?" Sherlock whispered to himself, ignoring him.

"Sherlock, you've already sat here for two hours. Admit it – you don't know. You're allowed not to know things."

Sherlock straightened in his chair.

"You're right, I don't know. But I know who does."

He got up and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. He called Lestrade.

"_I'm on a holiday, you know._"

"Who is this Roxanne Williams? What is her story?"

It took him a moment to answer.

"_Why are you asking?_"

"I need to know. She was smarter than me, and no one is smarter than me. Tell me who she is." Sherlock was probably the only person who could say than without sounding arrogant.

"_I'm sorry, I can't tell you._"

"Oh, come on!" Sherlock said angrily.

"_Ask her yourself if you want. But it's not my secret to tell._" he said, and hung up before Sherlock could answer.

Sherlock threw the phone at the couch and kicked the coffee table's leg. Why wouldn't Lestrade tell him? He usually tells him whatever he asks for. Why is she different? What could she possibly be hiding?

Since he had no other choice, he called the only other person who seemed to know her.

"_What it is, Sherlock? I'm busy here."_ he answered tiredly as usual.

"What do you know about Roxanne Williams?" Sherlock found it useless to be polite.

It took him a moment to answer.

"_Roxanne Williams? Why are you asking about her?_" he said coldly.

"She claims to be smarter than me. I have to understand how she did it." Sherlock said eagerly.

"_What is your connection to her?_" he avoided answering his question.

"I worked with her. She's replacing Lestrade for a while. Now would you answer me?"

As the other side was silence, Sherlock continued.

"She recognized me, Mycroft. She said we look alike. Therefore, she knows you. And you know her. So don't bother to lie to me and say you don't know her, because you obviously do. Tell me who she is." he sounded desperate, he knew he did, but he really _was_ desperate.

"_She worked with you?_" Mycroft asked quietly. His voice sounded a bit worried. What is it about her that makes everyone, even his brother, tremble when they hear her name?

"Who is she?!" he asked, now irritated.

"_I'm sorry, Sherlock._" he said, and Sherlock could hear a knock in the background.

"_I've got to go._" the older brother said hurriedly, and hung up.

Sherlock groaned in fury. Not knowing who she is was one thing, but being rejected by everyone he asked was another thing. And because of that refusal, he wanted to know who she was even more.

He gripped his laptop and put it on the coffee table, and sat on the couch in front of it.

"What are you doing?" John asked, a bit afraid of his friend's behaviour. He seemed so utterly obsessed with finding out who this woman really is, or in other words – how she was quicker than him.

"Mycroft isn't the only one who can play with cameras." he muttered as he uploaded a picture of Mycroft's office on the computer screen.

The picture wasn't in a great quality, but it was clear enough for the men to understand what was happening. They saw Mycroft, sitting on his large chair as usual, and a red-headed woman standing in front of him. And just in case either of the men was confused about the woman's identity, Mycroft cleared the situation.

"Have a seat, Ms. Williams."

She sat on the chair in front of him. She seemed comfortable in his office, as if she's been there often before.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes."

"You're early." both of them were speaking very coldly, in a tone that doesn't expose any emotion.

"The case was easier than expected, and therefore was solved quickly. So I figured, if I have some free time, why shouldn't I go visit my favourite therapist."

Mycroft sighed.

"I'm not your therapist, but since you refuse to see him, and we can't really compel you to do so, I'm replacing him."

The woman smiled smugly when he described their inability to force her to do something she didn't want to.

"I heard you're working with my brother." the man said after a short silence.

"Yes, I am. I didn't get to talk to him for too long, but it was a pleasure to watch him make every false conclusion possible about me." she said as her smile grew bigger. Mycroft rolled his eyes, and Sherlock clenched his hands into fists.

"Well, it's time you'll stop."

She raised an eyebrow.

"We both know you can't forbid me from working with him. What is it? Am I… _Intimidating_ you?" she asked in curiousity and leaned forward, so their faces would be only centimeters away.

As Mycroft not only didn't answer, but didn't move away as well, she moved back to her seat.

"How do you feel?" he asked her in lack of interest.

"Fantastic." she said in clearly fake enthusiasm.

Mycroft opened a drawer in his desk, and grabbed a small bottle. Ironically, it was identical to the one the cabbie used for his fake and real pills in that case so long ago. It contained one pill in it. But Mycroft didn't take it – he handed it over to her, and the look on her face changed. She looked as if she both wants and hates that mysterious pill. Nevertheless, she took the small bottle from his hands, and swallowed the pill, without removing her gaze from Mycroft. She glanced at the camera, and then looked at it again.

"You should teach your brothers some manners. Apparently he can't take no for an answer." she said, still looking at the camera. Sherlock blushed, and Mycroft turned to look at the camera as well. He frowned. He opened the drawer again, this time taking a small remote, and as he pressed a button the screen turned black and Sherlock lost sight of them.

"How the hell did she know you're watching?" John asked irritated.

"I have no idea."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was furious. No one would tell him who the hell is that mystery woman whom he is now working with, and the strange details don't stop piling up. She needs a therapist, but for some reason Mycroft can't force to see her therapist, so he's the replacement. She took a pill that she both wanted and hated.

The detective couldn't decide which of the details was the most peculiar. The fact that Mycroft can't force someone to do something, which seemed highly unlikely, the fact that she needs a therapist and still works in such a complicated job, or the mysterious medicine.

Sherlock's mind was exploding with thoughts, theories and ideas that he had no way to check. He tore a piece of paper and wrote down everything he knew about the woman:

_Knuckles – history of violence_

_Therapist – trauma/mental sickness_

_Medicine - ?_

_Knowledge about death - ?_

Sherlock looked at the list. It was short and insufficient. He _had_ to understand. John was watching the TV, occasionally glancing at Sherlock worriedly. He knew John thinks he's becoming obsessed with her, but he really wasn't. He was given a challenge, a riddle he must solve. Of course John doesn't understand – he's not intelligent enough. He had never experienced a feeling like this before. It's not his fault, though. He's just like everybody else – Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson…

"John." he suddenly said.

"What is it?"

"We forgot about the third person that knows who she is. The person that introduced between us." the detective said urgently as he put on his coat.

"What – Donovan? She'll never help you, you know." the doctor answered in confusion, nonetheless put on his coat as well.

"Don't be so sure." the detective answered with a mysterious smirk, and stormed out of the flat, as John tried desperately to catch up.


	5. Chapter 5

Donovan was sitting in Lestrade's office. The day was almost over now, and thanks to the new replacement she was out of work. And since she wasn't around – the office was all to herself. It was much better to have her cup of tea in the quiet office, rather than in the noisy outside.

Someone knocked on the door. She put her feet on the floor from the desk nervously, and smoothed her clothes.

"Come in."

A tall man and a shorter one entered. Donovan sighed.

"Hello, freaks." she said and rolled her eyes. She put her feet on the desk again.

"Sally. Kind as usual."

"What do you want?" she asked impatiently. She wanted the silence she had minutes ago back. She should have locked the door.

"Information." the taller man said as he shut the door behind him.

Donovan chuckled.

"What, is this supposed to be some kind of a threat? You and your boyfriend blackmailing me for information?" she said as sarcastically as possible, since she was actually quite afraid. She really didn't know a thing about the freak when he's angry, and definitely not how violence he might be to get what he wants. And by the look on his face, she truly believed he might be violent.

John moaned.

"I'm _not_ gay!" he said exasperated for the millionth time. Why did people keep assuming he's gay? He was engaged, for god's sake! And regardless to the fact they split up, he was absolutely not gay. He really should start hanging around Sherlock a little less often.

"Judging by your widened pupils and by your stiff shoulders, you're either attracted to me or afraid, and since we both know the correct answer, I think I might not need the threats. It seems that your situation is quite clear to you." the detective said as he walked closer to her, and she at last put her feet to the ground again. As Sherlock was too close to her in her mind, she stood up, so she won't have to look up in order to see his face. She had never seen him like that. He looked genuinely frightening. The look in his eyes suggested he'd do anything for the information he wants. What could be so important?

"I want you to tell me everything you know about Detective Inspector Williams." he said seriously at last.

The intimidated woman looked at him with disbelief.

"That's it? _That's_ the information you want?" she asked in scorn, but immediately regretted her words, as her words seemed to annoy the man. How could she be so afraid of him?

"Everything you know."

She hesitated a moment.

"I'm not allowed to tell you." she tried to convince him to change his mind.

He kept staring at her, not moving.

"I might get fired for this!" her voice sounded almost begging. But the man was still.

"Good. So it's a win-win situation." The shorter man spoke at last.

She looked at him with shock, but then she sighed. She realized she had no other choice but telling them.

"Have you heard of The Wiltshire Catch?"

"An entire family was slaughtered, each person in a different horrifying way, and the murderer wrote on the wall with blood 'catch me'. It took five more families to catch the murderer. What about it?" the detective asked, and then thought about it for a moment. History of violence, trauma – is she a survivor?

"She was a victim." he said quietly. It all made sense, but then she shook her head.

"If she wasn't a victim, then what's the connection?" he asked urgently. He didn't have time for those games.

But she didn't answer him. She simply looked at him. And Sherlock thought of the way she behaved when she introduced him to DI Williams. He remembered how she seemed afraid, how Mycroft seemed worried about the fact that they're working together, how Lestrade refused to answer his questions, and it all made sense.

John was still confused, of course. What other way could she be connected to the murder in?

"Oh." the taller man said in final comprehension, as the shorter one became even more confused.

"She was the _murderer_." he said in a low voice, and Donovan nodded.

"What?! Then how does she work here?!" John was stunned by the information given to him, like everyone else would have been. But of course, Sherlock isn't like everyone else. No – he thought of how perfectly logical it is – the marks on her knuckled were created during the murders, the therapist and medicine are in order to keep her safe for others, and her expertise in deaths are from her own experience.

Donovan explained.

"She was sentenced for life imprisonment in isolation, but she somehow managed to get in touch with people in the government and got herself a deal – she'll become a free woman, and in return she'll use her _experience_ to help solve other crimes. She's a bigger freak than you, you know." she spoke to Sherlock at the end, but he wasn't listening.

Yes, the riddle was solved. Mission accomplished. But no matter what he did, he couldn't stop thinking about her past. The Wiltshire Catch was like a bedtime story to him – a brilliant murderer, that was so clever that he, _she_, got caught. It was one of the cases Sherlock had always wished he investigated. He never did find out how the killer was caught, and now he had best opportunity to find out. He already knew what John would say about it – he should keep it a secret, since they're not allowed to know it. But if he'll explain he'll be even more against it.

How could he possibly explain to his best friend, that there was a part of him, that _admired_ her? He knew it wasn't normal to admire a serial killer, but he couldn't help it. Donovan was right about one thing she thought about him – he covets good murders. He enjoys what he does. And this – this was an opportunity for him. He has a chance to talk to a serial killer, and a brilliant one, at that. The better he understands how and why she has done it, the better he'll get in solving future crimes. Plus - he wanted to know how she got caught. Knowing her was an advantage Sherlock was willing to use, but he had to do it discreetly, for everyone else will think he's gone mad, or worse – asking for advice for a future murder of his own.

But he _had_ to talk to her about it somehow. And he already had a few ideas.

Seven, to be exact.


	6. Chapter 6

Roxanne looked through Lestrade's computer. She was absolutely bored, and there was no work to be done. Ever since she replaced Lestrade, the cases were solved quickly, and therefore, she had free time. The rest of the agents thanked her for that, but she hated it. Free time meant boredom. She was hoping to see something interesting – suspicious emails, strange pictures - but it seemed that Lestrade was a regular decent man. She hated it.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Finally." she whispered in relief. Maybe there's a new investigation.

"Come in." she called.

But instead of the short woman or the annoying-looking man, the tall detective came in. His expression was different than it was the day before. He seemed irresolute.

"Oh, hello." she said in hidden interest. Something was finally happening.

"Hello." he said, and then turned quiet again and looked away.

"What is it?"

"What?"

"The reason you came here. What is it?"

"I just wanted to… I wanted to _apologize_ for my behaviour yesterday. It was much uncivilized of me." he said as he looked away in embarrassment. It appeared that it was difficult for him to apologize.

"Oh." she said in surprise. He didn't seem like an apologetic person. "Apology accepted. But you deserve an apology as well. Therefore, I apologize for _my_ behaviour yesterday. I was arrogant." why did she apologize? Of course she was arrogant. She really _was_ better than him

The detective giggled and blushed a tad. Why was he acting so differently?

"So, I was wondering… Would you like to have a cup of tea sometime? Tonight, perhaps?" he asked shyly. It was clear he didn't have much experience in this area, but the woman smiled anyway.

She wasn't very interested in dating anyone, definitely not. People were dull and worthless of her time. But he wasn't. He was intelligent. Clearly not intelligent enough in order to stay away from her, but he was. And not only it would be fun to play with him, it is guaranteed to upset his brother, which is an absolute bonus.

"Sounds great. Where should I meet you?" she asked in the kindest tone she could produce.

"How about my flat? It'd be empty this evening, and I can make us tea free of charge." he looked a bit thrilled, but as if he's trying to hide it.

"I'll be there. What's the address?"

"221B Baker Street."

"Alright, I'll see you tonight then."

He smiled enthusiastically and left the room.

Roxanne's smile altered into a more vicious one, as she thought of how furious Mycroft would be as he finds out.

Sherlock's smile, on the other hand, faded away as soon as he closed the door behind him. He loved playing characters to get what he needs, yet he hated acting like a regular idiot man. But the goal justifies the means, he thought. Perhaps John is right, perhaps he really is obsessed with her. Nonetheless, he continued in his plan. The first part was complete – now it was time for the second one.


	7. Chapter 7

As Sherlock heard her heels climb up the stairs, he walked over to the door. He opened it just as she lifted her hand in order to knock.

She laughed.

"Great timing."

He laughed along. He continued reminding himself that she is just faking it all, just like him – only her motivation to do so was unknown.

"Well, you mentioned something about tea, didn't you?"

He kept his smile on as he answered.

"The water just finished boiling. I'll prepare it now."

He walked over to the kitchen to prepare the tea, and she removed her coat and put it on the chair's arm as she sat down on the chair.

"So, where are you from? I had never seen you before yesterday, and I'm working with the Scotland Yard for a long time." he called to her as he poured the hot water to the mugs.

She laughed at his use of the word 'with' instead of using the word 'for'.

"I move a lot. In fact, it's the first time I've ever been to London." she lied very persuasively. If Sherlock hadn't known otherwise, he'd believe her.

As he noticed her lie, he continued with his plan. He prepared his own tea, and then carefully prepared hers.

"Do you sweeten your tea?" he asked.

"Just a bit."

As her tea was ready, he put the mugs on a tray and brought it over to her. He sat on the chair opposite to her and put the tray on the table between them. She reached out to take one of the mugs, but he grabbed it before she managed to do so. He smirked as she looked at him with confusion.

"This one is mine. I don't sweeten mine."

She nodded and grabbed the second mug. She took a zip. It was a bit too sweet.

"How is it?" he asked shyly.

"Good." she answered shortly, and drank some more, as if she's proving to him she wasn't lying.

Sherlock nodded satisfied and drank some of his tea as well.

"So, what is it like to be in London?" he tried to start a light chat. The plan could work only if she was too distracted to notice it.

"Not as different as I expected it to be, in fact. There are more cases, but they are unfortunately aren't any harder to solve." she said as she continued drinking her tea. Every time she saw Sherlock was drinking from his tea, she did so as well. She wanted to be polite, in order for him to like her. It would only upset Mycroft if he liked her.

They were quiet for a moment, and then she realized her mug was empty. She looked at the bottom of it when the thought came to her mind – Sherlock is a very logical and accurate person, as she learned when they first met. It wasn't like him to put 'too much' sugar. What if sugar wasn't when made the tea sweet?

The room started spinning, and Sherlock bent forward and took the mug from her hands. He finally didn't have to fake a smile – he was smiling like a child that had just received his Christmas present, and now it was time to open it.

"What did you put in my tea?" she asked disoriented. Her head was spinning, and she felt like the words are flowing out of her mouth a bit too easily.

"Scopolamine. The closest thing to a truth serum."

The second part of the plan was finally complete. And now it was time for the third part – his favourite one of all. He got up and started walking around the room.

"A truth serum? Oh god." the woman mumbled and rested her head on the chair. She closed her eyes.

"Where are you from?"

"Wiltshire."

"Why did you move?"

"Because I slaughtered five families." whatever Sherlock had injected her, it was working. She felt incapable of lying, as if it's too much effort. And she was aware of the consequences.

Sherlock laughed enthusiastically.

"Fantastic! Some people are highly immune to it, but _you_ are one of the more sensitive ones. Oh, this is fantastic!" he attached his hands and rubbed them against each other. As last, the real Sherlock was discovered to her.

"May I know _why_ you are so pleased by the fact I can't lie to you?" she made an effort to ask. It felt much harder to think of words of her own, rather than to answer his question. She knew it was a bad sign.

Sherlock stopped wandering in the room and stood still in front of her.

"You don't understand. Your case had always been one of my favourites. The way you challenged the police to catch you, the way you left no fingerprints, no hair and no DNA in any scene, the way you used a different murder weapon for each person you've killed… You were the perfect serial killer. God, I wish I got the chance to investigate in your case!" he was looking at her at the beginning, but soon he was speaking to himself. But then he was focused again.

"You were so good – how did you get caught?"

Inevitably, she answered his question.

"After I killed my last victim, I noticed a hidden camera, which was placed on the top of a tall cupboard. I tried climbing it in order to get to the camera and break it, but the cupboard fell down on me. I wasn't badly injured, but my foot got stuck under it somehow, so all that was left was to wait for the police to come and find me." the words spilled out of her mouth.

"How did you manage not to leave any evidence for your existence in the crime scenes?" he seemed awfully curious about her murders, and she like it. Did he really understand her?

"That part was simple. I used a hair net and a pair of gloves, and as for the sweat – I simply didn't sweat." she hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed. Not only was it dangerous for both of them.

"You realize this is dangerous, right? Me, being unfocused and unstable?"

"Please, you've taken your medication. If you were any danger, you weren't here. Which brings me to my next question: You were sentenced to life imprisonment. How is it possible you're free?" her lame attempt of being intimidating failed, and Sherlock continued asking his questions.

"I was in isolation for three months only when the idea came to my mind. When the prison guard came to give me my lunch, I pulled him inside the room, and used the knife I was stupidly provided with to threaten his life. I set an ultimatum – they could either connect me to a person in the government that has enough power in order to make me a free woman, or they could say goodbye to that jailer. They chose the first option, and your brother was the man. He said I'll be released only if I'll agree to work for the Scotland Yard and use my knowledge and experience to solve other cases, if I'll agree to take proper medication to keep me stable and if I'll agree to meet with a therapist. I agreed to all conditions."

She opened her eyes to see his expression, and she was surprised by what she saw. He looked like a child being told his favourite story, as his eyes seemed both curious and fascinated.

"Why did you do it? What made you kill all those people?"

Even though she was drugged, she struggled to keep her mouth shut. She felt as if her brain is too tired to work on his own, and therefore acts according to what it's being told – by what Sherlock is asking.

"Why did you do it? Tell me." there was no anger or stress in his voice, only eagerness to hear what she has to say.

She gave up, and started talking again.

"I didn't mean to at the beginning. But then there was a moment when everything turned quiet, and it was all I could think of. I don't remember much of it. I don't remember much of any of it. I remember how I did it, I remember the blood on my hands, my face, my body, I remember the look they had as they finally died. But I can't remember how each happened. There's only one thing that was consistent in every single life I've taken away – _I liked it_. I liked every single part of it. That's why I need the meds. If it will ever happen again, another 'urge', I don't think I'll be able to resist it. There's a part of me that misses it."

She closed her eyes again, as she didn't care about his expression anymore. She had told him the one thing she barely admitted to herself. Everything else he'll ask will be worthless compared to this information. Who knows what he will do with this information? Will he keep it a secret? Will he use it to blackmail her?

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant." he murmured in excitement. How was he not afraid?

"How can you possibly think this is brilliant? I'm a _killer_, Sherlock. A _murderer_. You could be my next victim! Why are you so excited about this? Why aren't you afraid, or at least somewhat concerned?" she asked, and she started feeling a bit better. Perhaps the drug was wearing off now.

Sherlock looked at her, and he noticed the difference in her speech as well. If the drug is wearing off, he had to move to the last part of his plan.

He got up and walked to the kitchen.

"Yes, you're a murderer. That's exactly why it's brilliant. I've never got to talk to a serial killer in personal, especially not when they must say the truth." his voice sounded further from her as he spoke.

"And besides, why should I be afraid? Why should I fear you, when you won't even _remember_ I know all of this?" he asked, and just as she wondered as to what he meant, she felt a sharp needle inserted to her neck, and an unknown liquid injected threw it. Her eyes widened in shock and fear, and she opened her mouth to scream, but before she could her head fell back to the chair and everything went black. The last thing she felt was Sherlock's arms holding her so she won't fall from the chair.


	8. Chapter 8

"DI Williams, may I come in?" a faint voice said.

"Roxanne?" it asked again, as there was no answer.

Roxanne opened her eyes in bewilderment. Her eyelids felt heavier than they should have. She must have fell asleep in the office, since she couldn't remember a thing from the day.

"Roxanne?" the voice turned louder, and there were knocks again.

As she was awake enough, she started understanding what was happening. She was in her office, and it was Donovan knocking on the door.

"Yes, come in."

Donovan entered the room and closed the door carefully behind her.

"I just wanted to ask, since there's nothing to do here, and it's already late…"

"If you may go home? Yes, you may." she said disoriented, and blinked a couple of times.

"Is… Is everything alright?" asked Donovan, which noticed her strange behaviour. She hesitated before asking, since she was afraid to irritate her.

"Yes, sorry. I just don't feel so well. I think I might have fallen asleep." she said, and stood up. She walked a few paces, but then became dizzy again and fell forward. Donovan caught her before she did. She felt very uncomfortable to be so close to her, but there was still a part of her that cared about her.

"Are you okay?" the shorter woman asked worriedly. She helped her sit down again.

"I need you to do a favour for me." The red-headed asked desperately.

"What is it?" she asked, a bit concerned about what she might ask.

"I need you to take blood from me, and run a toxicology screen."

Donovan nodded and walked to the door quickly.

"Thank you for being so kind to me. I know you're afraid of me. I don't blame you for being afraid. I'd be afraid of myself too." Roxanne called to her when she was just about to leave the room.

Donovan didn't turn to her, as her words touched her too much.

"No problem." she murmured quietly and hurried outside of the room.

As she left, Roxanne closed her eyes again, and soon fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

"Roxanne?"

She opened her eyes slowly.

"The results are here." the sergeant said softly, and sat down next to her with a sheet of paper in her hand.

"Well, what is it?"

"You were drugged. The drug that was found in your blood is called Scopolamine. It is often used as –"

"A truth serum." the other woman said thoughtfully.

"Yes, exactly. How did you know that?" as far as she knew, the woman next to her had no exceptional knowledge in chemistry, so she was surprised by her answer.

"I'm not sure. I don't _know_ it, I _remember_ it. I think whoever drugged me told me that." she said in clear confusion.

Donovan sighed and bent forward.

"What _do_ you remember from today?"

"I remember sitting here, and then there was a knock on the door… And that's pretty much it. I remember a voice, but I can't exactly recognize it, neither repeat its words. But I know it was a male's voice."

Donovan frowned.

"So what you're trying to say is that there's an unknown man that drugged you in order to force you to tell him god-knows-what, but you have no idea who it was."

"Exactly."


	10. Chapter 10

"Roxanne?"

She opened her eyes slowly.

"The results are here." the sergeant said softly, and sat down next to her with a sheet of paper in her hand.

"Well, what is it?"

"You were drugged. The drug that was found in your blood is called Scopolamine. It is often used as –"

"A truth serum." the other woman said thoughtfully.

"Yes, exactly. How did you know that?" as far as she knew, the woman next to her had no exceptional knowledge in chemistry, so she was surprised by her answer.

"I'm not sure. I don't _know_ it, I _remember_ it. I think whoever drugged me told me that." she said in clear confusion.

Donovan sighed and bent forward.

"What _do_ you remember from today?"

"I remember sitting here, and then there was a knock on the door… And that's pretty much it. I remember a voice, but I can't exactly recognize it, neither repeat its words. But I know it was a male's voice."

Donovan frowned.

"So what you're trying to say is that there's an unknown man that drugged you in order to force you to tell him god-knows-what, but you have no idea who it was."

"Exactly."


	11. Chapter 11

The detective and the doctor entered the room, which was recently occupied by a different person. The doctor noticed immediately something was wrong – the woman looked much differently than she did two days ago. She looked much weaker, unfocused, and most importantly – she didn't look like she has half of the self-confident she did when they met.

"Thank you for coming in such a short notice. Sit down." She gestured towards the chairs in the opposite side of the table. The men sat down.

"Well, what is it?" the shorter man asked.

She took a deep breath before answering.

"I was drugged last night. I can barely remember anything that happened then. Whoever did it used Scopolamine, which is usually used as a truth serum."

"You were _drugged_?!" he asked, stunned.

"Yes. And since Sherlock is the last person I remember meeting, perhaps you remember seeing anyone suspicious, anyone that seemed to not belong…" her voice faded.

"Nothing I can recall. Sorry." the taller man said a bit too calmly in John's mind.

His voice made her tremble for some reason, but she ignored the strange feeling.

"Well, it was worth a try. Anyway, I want you to try and investigate it. I know it's a bit strange I'm asking you to do so, but I'm out of options."

"We'll try our best." The detective said, and she felt that odd tremble again.


	12. Chapter 12

She knocked on the large wooden doors as usual. As there was no answer, she simply entered without waiting any longer. She closed the door quietly behind her.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes." she said in her regular tone.

She turned to look at him, and was surprised to see a different man in the large black chair.

"Hello, Ms. Williams." Sherlock said and smiled smugly. He seemed to enjoy the situation. Whether it was the look of surprise on her face, or the feeling of power he got from sitting in his brother's chair, he seemed pleased.

"Sherlock. What are you doing here?"

He smiled and gestured towards a chair. She sat on it. She always felt very confident in that spot, but there was something about his presence that made her insecure.

"I knew you'd be here, so I thought I should come over and say hello. And also to give you this."

He opened the same drawer Mycroft always did, and took the small bottle with her medication.

"Here it is. You said it helps you with the… 'Urges', you called it?" he asked, and as her shock grew bigger, his smile widened.

"It was you. You were the one that drugged me."

"Of course it was me. You said so yourself – I was the last person to see you yesterday."

He put his elbows on the large desk, and his hands in a praying-like position in front of his mouth.

"So, tell me, what _are_ those 'urges'?"

"They're like seizures. I can't control it, but I can try and fight it when it happens. The whole world just turns silent, and all I can think of is to kill the person next to me." the words flowed out of her mouth too easily than they should have.

"Why did I just tell you that?" she asked herself quietly. She really did not mean to share this information with him.

The man laughed loudly, and kept the large smile on his face even after he stopped laughing.

"Amazing! Absolutely amazing!" he said joyfully.

"Amazing?!" she asked annoyed. She seemed to have no self-control. What was so amazing about it?

"Yes, amazing. When I tried it, I never thought it would work. I mean, I read a few researches that claimed that it works, but I never imagined it would be this effective!"

"_What_ would be this effective?" she was getting more nervous every second passing.

"Hypnosis! I managed to hypnotize you, and you you're incapable of hiding anything from me!"

"You managed to _what_?!" she started feeling nausea.

"I can't believe it worked so well. You know, you are _really_ easy to influence." the detective was so blissful, and the way he smiled bothered her almost as much as what he had just admitted to have done.

"Would you stop smiling like that?!" she yelled at him.

She was starting to feel dizzy again, and she knew Sherlock was talking to her, but his voice sounded faded, as if he was standing far away. She closed her eyes and put her hands on her face.

Not now. She couldn't another 'urge' now. She was doing so fine.

But it was so absolutely tempting to let it take control over her.

To kill the only man that can know all of her darkest secrets, the only man she can hide nothing from.

Sherlock stopped talking. He watched her behaviour for a short moment, and then he realized what was happening. Even though he thought he wouldn't be afraid if anything like this will ever happen, but he was. He was terrified.

She was shaking violently, and this was the first time Sherlock could see the part of her that killed others.

"Roxanne…" he said softly.

"No." she half-shouted with a shaking voice.

The man walked near her and bent down beside her. He knew it was the dumbest thing he had done in a long time. Nevertheless, he put his hand on her curled back. He could feel her shakings.

"Don't touch me! Are you deaf? I'm a _murderer_!" she yelled, and her voice broke.

Sherlock bent closer to her, and talked softly in her ear.

"No, you are_ not_. You are a regular woman, with a regular life. Listen to me – you are _not_ a murderer. Be stronger than this."

He could feel how her shakings slowly stop, and he could hear her slow, deep breathes. She lifted her head from her hands and looked at him.

"It's over now." she whispered. "How did you know this would help?"

"That's the opposite side of what I did- I know everything about you. Including what helps you relax."

She took a deep breathe. Perhaps this wasn't such a disadvantage. Because now, she found a way to control, or at least to restrain, her 'urges'.

"By the way, 'urges' is an awful name for that. You really should change it." Sherlock was back to his regular self.

"If you'll ever have a better idea for it, let me know."

"Well, it should be a name that sounds bit less frightening. You should make up a code name for it, so you'll be able to talk about it in front of others without making them suspicious." he answered without understanding the sarcasm in her tone.

"Any ideas for a code?" she was being sarcastic again, but the man still didn't get it.

"How about 'trances'? Not the best idea, but it's better than yours."

She considered it for a moment. It did sound better.

"You must keep this a secret."

"Your new code word?" he asked confused.

"No, _this_. Whatever you… _hypnotized_ me to do, or perhaps to _not_ do." she felt mad when saying that sentence out loud.

"Why?"

"I have enemies, Sherlock. I'm not like you. There are people out there that would be happy to kill me. If any of them will ever find about this, they'll use if to hurt me. Maybe even hurt you as well."

"I'll keep it as a secret, then."

Sherlock walked back to Mycroft's chair and sat on it. She straightened up in her seat.

"There's something you didn't tell me. You didn't just simply know how to calm me. There's something else."

He hesitated a moment before answering.

"Would you believe me if I told you?"

"I think I'd believe anything you'll tell me right now." she said tiredly.

"When I hypnotized you, I said something about making you like my voice. As foolish as it sounds, every research I had read mentioned doing something like that. So I did. And I also said that my voice would calm you down. That's why my words helped." he sounded a bit shy, but it was understandable why he was feeling this way. The whole situation was unbelievable, as if was taken from a science fiction movie.

"So, you're saying that your _voice_ calms me down, and that my subconscious likes your voice?" she asked in disbelief.

Then, she chuckled. But her chuckled grew into laughter, and Sherlock joined it. They both felt so silly talking about such matters, even though they knew it was a serious issue.

"I can't believe this is happening." she said while laughing.

"And you killed five families. Imagine how unlikely this would seem to people not open-headed like you." Sherlock said, and his laughter became louder.

Surprisingly, this made her laugh as well.

Perhaps it wasn't so bad Sherlock had that control over her. Perhaps it wasn't bad at all.

The large wooden door was opened, and the man who was supposed to be in the room from the beginning entered. As he looked at them, his expression changed into complete surprise. The two stopped laughing for a moment, as they were surprised by his entry as well, but after seeing the startled look on his face, they started laughing again.

"What the _hell_ are you doing in my office?!" Mycroft asked angrily, and their laughter grew bigger.


	13. Chapter 13

"Where have you been?" the shorter man asked the taller one as he entered the flat.

"Away." he answered indifferently.

John rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, you've been avoiding me for the last couple of days. You ask me to let you have the flat to yourself without explaining – fine. You disappear without telling me where you're going – fine. You're an adult, and you don't have to tell me everything. But somehow that woman –"

"Roxanne." he interrupted.

John sighed.

"Roxanne," he corrected and then continued, "Seems to be involved in everything you do. You're becoming obsessed with her, Sherlock! Obsessed with a convicted murderer!"

"She's not a murderer, she is mentally ill. It's not her fault." Sherlock muttered defensively. He felt a need to justify her.

John frowned.

"Oh, don't give me that look." Sherlock said and squinted his eyes in irritation.

"What look?" he asked, without changing his expression.

"That 'I'm worried about you' look."

He took a deep breathe.

"But I _do_ worry about you. That's what friends do – they care about each other. And when I see the way you can't stop thinking about her, when I watch you do anything possible to get near her, I –"

"Then don't. Because this isn't your business. Besides, you don't know her. You don't know a single thing about her."

"And you do?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but simply looked away from his face. His flat mate's concern became worse.

"Oh, god."

"What?" Sherlock asked annoyed.

"I don't think you're obsessed about her."

"Good."

"I think you're in love with her."

Sherlock frowned, but he was speechless. He truly didn't know how to answer, so all he did was to watch his flat mate looking at him with concern, and then walking out of the flat.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock opened the door, and the red-headed woman entered.

"You asked me to come quickly. What is it?"

"It's nothing particularly urgent. It's just that…" he paused and gestured towards the sofa. She sat on it quickly, and he sat down on the chair next to it.

"It's just that – what?"

"Nothing. Forget about it, this is silly." he said dismissively. Perhaps it was better not to bring it up.

"Well, I'm already here. Say it."

The man sighed.

"John said he thinks I'm in love with you. I just wanted to make sure you find it as ridiculous as I do. I mean, this _is_ ridiculous, right? It's not like you're in love with me as well."

The woman kept quiet and looked away. Sherlock's expression changed.

"Are you?"

"Am I _what_?" she knew what was the question, but she preferred to pretend that she didn't.

"Are you in love with me?" he asked with just a tad of noticeable curiosity.

She hesitated before answering him.

"What if I am?" she whispered, still looking away.

Sherlock stood up and started wandering in the room.

"No, this isn't real. It's probably the hypnosis. When I told you to like my voice, your mind interpreted it into liking _me_. There's no other option." he mumbled frantically.

"So what? So what if it is? It doesn't change my feelings." she said, just a bit louder than before.

"You can't _love_ me." the man said in contempt. He despised emotions like this. Ones that interrupt the rational thinking, and distract you from the real issue.

"But I do."

"Nonsense."

"I do!" she exclaimed loudly. "I do." she repeated, more quietly.

"Look, this is strange for me as well. Do you know how long it's been since the last time I've loved someone? I don't think it even happened before. But I know what I feel. And maybe you're right, maybe this is all because of my subconscious, forcing me into loving you. But I don't care. Either way, I'm happier now than I've been in a very long while. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is the person you fell in love with. I'm not good for you." he answered quietly.

She stood up, and walked towards him slowly as she spoke.

"Not good for me? Sherlock, you're the only person that had ever managed to calm me when I had a… 'trance'." she said and smiled shyly. "You're the only person that I feel safe with, the only person that I can allow myself to open up with, whether it is voluntarily or not. My only question to you is – what do _you _feel?" she asked as she stood face to face in front of him, only a pace away.

"I'm not good with feelings." he whispered quietly.

"Then don't talk about what you feel. _Act_. Do something to make me understand your answer."

Sherlock was still for a moment. In order to act, he had to think about the right action for the situation.

He put his hands on her cheeks and pulled her to him. He kissed her a passionate yet short kiss.

He leaned back, and saw the look of surprise on her face. She truly wasn't expecting this.

Sherlock removed his hands from her face, and sat on the couch. He just stared at the air, and then frowned. Why the _hell_ did he do that for?

She didn't move. She was still  
stunned.

"Well?"

"What _well_?" he asked irritated. His actions just reminded him of how unbalanced he was when he was around her.

"What's next?"

"Next?"

She walked towards him and sat on the couch's arm, as close as she could to him.

"We have two options. We can pretend this kiss never happened, and live on with our regular lives without ever seeing each other again."

Sherlock turned to look at her.

"What's the alternative?" they both knew they won't be able to stay away from each other.

"We can decide that this kiss was the first, but not the last."

They were both quiet for a while. She gave him time to think.

"Your subconscious is forcing you into loving me."

"Couldn't phrase it better."

She was quiet for a moment.

"You're obsessed with me because of the one thing I hate the most about myself."

"You're probably right."

Both of them waited for the other one to speak.

"We can't tell anyone."

"Of course not."

"Not even Mycroft." he warned her.

Her expression became hesitant. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"He's my therapist!" she said with a smile.

"And I'm your boyfriend!" Sherlock said equally loudly, and then frowned, as he realized what he had just said.

"You are, aren't you?" she said quietly.

She leaned forward, and their lips met again. It made Sherlock feel exposed, but he liked it.

The door opened, and John entered.


	15. Chapter 15

"What the – _What are you doing_?!" John shouted at them.

They separated quickly.

"You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to understand." Roxanne mumbled, and Sherlock laughed.

"No, this isn't funny. Sherlock – she is a _serial killer_! She is dangerous, and instead of staying as far as possible from her, you're doing the exact opposite!"

"I'm right here, you know." she said.

"No, you don't get to speak. I –"

"_I don't get to speak?!_ And who are you to decide that? The only reason I'm here is because your friend here asked me to come. Do you know why he did it? Because he _loves_ me. I know it's hard for you to get only a part of Sherlock's attention, and not all of it, but you'll have to get used to it, because guess what? _I love him too_!" she shouted in fury and stormed out of the flat.

"She really –"

"No, she's right. You don't get to speak. You make me accept all of your girlfriends, to remember their _names_, and when I don't, you rebuke me and tell me I'm not _human_ enough, and that I should let myself _feel_. So I did, and now you're telling me I shouldn't! I'm sorry, John, but this is none of your business. You're attracted to boring teachers, I'm attracted to a serial killer. Accept the situation as it is, because it's not going to change."

Sherlock stormed out of the flat as well, and left his flat mate to stand there alone, shocked.


	16. Chapter 16

Roxanne walked quickly to her destination. She was so terribly angry, and she could feel how her anger is blinding her. She knew what could happen if anyone will make her any angrier than she was right now, and she was afraid of it.

She walked quickly, ignoring everyone around her, until she reached her destination.

She opened the door without knocking.

Mycroft sighed at he saw her red hair entering the room. Why couldn't they just let him _work_? But his expression changed as he saw her face. It didn't take him long to understand what was going on, and he knew he had to be extremely cautious in his words.

"Give it to me. I need it right now." she said urgently.

"What are you talking about?" he asked quietly.

"My medication. I didn't take it. _Give it to me now_!" she started yelling.

The man quickly opened his regular drawer, took the small bottle and tossed it over to her. She caught it, removed the cork and swallowed the pill in seconds.

She sat on the chair heavily after she did, and closed her eyes.

"What happened? What made you so furious, Ms. Williams? And why didn't you take your medicine?"

She opened her eyes, and looked at him with the look of a child accused for pulling a prank.

"Well?"


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock knocked on the door. Mrs. Hudson opened it quickly, surprised. They rarely visited her.

"Sherlock, dear, come in. What is it?" she put her hand on his back and leaded him inside.

"What? Nothing. Why are you asking?"

She gave him her reproving look.

"You never visit me for no reason."

Sherlock thought for a moment, and then sighed.

"I need your advice, Mrs. Hudson. I got into something I don't know how to deal with."

"Oh, dear, what did you do? Is it the drugs again?" she asked him worriedly.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. I… I think I…" he didn't know how to phrase the sentence.

Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"You're in love, aren't you?"


	18. Chapter 18

Mycroft entered his office, after the longer-than-planned break he took after Roxanne's visit. Her behaviour, her words, weren't easily digested by him, and he couldn't work while thinking of her, so he took a break.

Not that it helped.

His room was empty and quiet, as it should be. But as he shut the door behind him, he noticed a man sitting on one of the chairs. As he noticed him, he started talking.

"There must be something we can do." the man said.

Mycroft groaned. He tried to compare the amount time he spent actually working, to the amount of time he spent talking to people in his office about matters he couldn't care less about.

The problem was that now he cared.

"Hello, John. What a pleasant surprise." he said as sarcastically as he could, and sat on his large black chair.

The two simply looked at each other for a minute.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You came to me. Did you come just to waste my time, or is there an actual purpose to your visit?" he said impatiently.

The doctor sighed.

"It's Sherlock. He's… He's _dating_ Roxanne Williams. I mean, they're not actually _dating_, I don't think he's ever been to a date, but they're… _in love_."

Mycroft could hear the disgust in his voice as he said the words 'in love'.

"And?" Mycroft asked tiredly and closed his eyes.

The doctor looked at him with disbelief.

"_And_? _And_?!" he started yelling.

"Lower your voice!" Mycroft hissed. It was worst enough that his office turned into a tourists' attraction, he didn't need those shouts as well.

John took a deep breathe.

"He is your _brother_, Mycroft. Doesn't it bother you he's in love with a serial killer?"

"Of course it does. But I'm her therapist, and she talks to me. If it's any comfort to you, she really does love him. And even the greatest terrorists don't hurt the people they love."

John was quiet for a moment before asking the inevitable question.

"What about us?" his voice was lower than before.

Mycroft pondered it.

"Be the nicest you can to her. As frightening as you might think she is, she isn't all bad. Just don't get on her nerves and you can have a wonderful friend."

"Yeah, a friend that'll murder me if I'll take her seat." he murmured.

"Now, if you don't mind, some people have work to be done."

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

The doctor got up and talked towards the door.

"How can you work like that? How are you not distracted?" he asked without turning.

"I just try not to care."

"I wish I could do that. Not care. I really wish I could."

He opened the door and left the room, leaving the older brother to think of his younger sibling.


	19. Chapter 19

Donovan knocked on the door.

"Williams?"

"Yes, Sally?"

"May I come in?"

"It's not a museum, you don't have to ask for permission."

Donovan half-smiled and entered.

Roxanne was sitting on her chair, her feet on the table as usual, and right beside them there was a half-empty glass of alcohol.

"Is everything alright?" Sally asked worriedly. She somehow learned to like the woman, and she could almost forget about her past.

It took her a moment to answer.

"I did something. I don't regret doing it, but everyone else seems to not like the consequences of my action."

Sally frowned. The inevitable question came to her mind, but she was too afraid to ask it.

Roxanne noticed the look she had, and even though her head was spinning a bit, she recognized it. It was the look people had always given her.

"No, I didn't kill anyone."

"What? I didn't say anything."

"But that's what you were thinking. I don't blame you, it's the obvious option, it's just not correct."

They were both quiet. The red-headed finished her drink.

"What did you do, then?"

She refilled her glass before answering.

"I kissed Sherlock. Sherlock kissed me. And we're planning on doing again."

Donovan was startled and surprised, but most of all – disgusted. Her expression was like an open window to her feelings.

"_Please_. You're having an affair with a married unintelligent man, you have no right to judge me."

Unfortunately to Donovan, she was right. And for once, she decided she won't refer to him as a freak, but as her… _boyfriend_. It made her sick just to think of them together, but she kept it inside. She was her only friend, sort of, and she seemed to need someone at the moment.

"Alright, no judgments."

Roxanne consumed more of her drink.

"What's the problem, then? If you two like each other, then why do you care about what everyone else thinks?"

"I care because everyone else is his best friend and his older brother, which seem to be the only ones who can affect him."

"Sherlock Holmes is not the man to listen to people's opinions."

"Everyone is. Even Sherlock Holmes. He may not care about your opinion or Anderson's, but he cares about John's. Besides, it's not like they think I'm bad for him. I _am_ bad for him. I'm bad for you too. Why are you even here?"

The shorter woman sighed.

"I guess everyone needs a friend, right?"

"Can I consider you as my friend?"

"I think you can."

"I like having a friend. There aren't many people who can look at me without seeing a killer. Do you see a killer when you look at me?"

"No," she half-lied, "I see a beautiful and kind woman that unfortunate events in her life caused her to do things she never intended to do, but it doesn't affect her personality."

Roxanne finished her glass again. Donovan didn't know how many glasses has she drunk so far.

"Well, time to end the drinking."

"What? Why?"

"Because no one wants to kiss a girl with a hangover."

As she considered her words, Donovan snatched the glass from her hands and helped her up.

"Come on, let's go."

She put her arm around her waist and let her lean on her as they walked out of the room.

"Thank you for being my friend. I know it's hard."

Sally could feel her eyes fill with tears, but she swallowed hard to keep them in. She was nicer to her than anyone else in the Scotland Yard ever were.

"Not hard at all."


	20. Chapter 20

"Good morning." Sherlock said as he entered Lestrade's office, that was her office for now.

"Good morning." she answered.

As he knew it would annoy his flat mate, he went to her and kissed her.

As expected, his flat mate rolled his eyes.

"What are you so excited about?" she asked with a smile.

"I'm always happy when there's a case."

"You know you don't need us for the case, right? I mean, you didn't need more than five seconds to solve the previous one."

"I like the company."

Both Sherlock and Roxanne looked at John's irritated and disbelieved expression, and after a couple of seconds they both started laughing.

"I'm sorry, did I miss anything?" John asked, even more irritated by their behaviour.

"Do you hate me so much because of the number of people I killed, or do you actually care about my personality enough in order to hate it?"

Her question made him think about what Mycroft had told him: 'As frightening as you think she is, she isn't all bad. Just don't get on her nerves and you'll have a wonderful friend'. What are the odds that he's right?

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll give you a chance and get to know you before I'll start hating you." there was still a limit to how friendly he could be.

"Fair enough." she shrugged, but then the smile she tried to conceal slipped out.

Maybe she isn't that bad.

"Well, let's go. We've got a body to examine."

And maybe she is.


	21. Chapter 21

"Why did you even call us?" John asked angrily in the cab on their way to their flat.

"I didn't know the case would be that easy!"

"God, you're even worse than him." he muttered.

"Should I take it as a compliment?" Sherlock asked.

"No."

"Should _I _take it as a compliment?" Roxanne asked.

"_No_."

The couple laughed.

"I understand why you like him – for some reason, I do too. What I don't understand is why you like her." John was incapable of restraining his irritation any longer.

"John!" Sherlock scolded him loudly.

"It's fine, Sherlock. To be honest – I don't understand it either."

John was a bit surprised by her answer. One moment she was arrogant, the next shy. It made getting to know her much harder.

"Well, I'm starving." she said after a moment of silence.

"We can order something over."

"Or you could cook."

The men laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"He _never_ cooks. _Never_. He barely makes himself a cup of tea." the shorter man said as he laughed.

"Really?" she asked in an inquisitive tone. "Because your brother told me you used to cook very often when you two were younger."

"Wha – Sherlock? Cooking? That's something I'd like to see."

"Be careful what you wish for." Sherlock murmured.


	22. Chapter 22

It took them fifty minutes to get to the flat, persuade Sherlock to cook something, and have the meal ready.

He prepared some mushroom risotto, which was much more complicated than anything John has ever imagined Sherlock is capable of cooking.

The three of them sat around the table, eating quietly.

"This is good."

"Yes, very good."

"Thank you."

They were silent again.

"How did you not tell me you can cook?"

"You never asked."

"You can't buy milk, but you can cook."

"Why are you so surprised by this?"

"You just don't seem like the cooking type."

"And she doesn't seem like the murdering type."

The awkward silence was back.

"What, too soon?" she asked John.

"A bit, yes. I'm still startled I'm having dinner with a serial killer that's currently dating my best friend."

"I'm still startled as well." she said again.

Sherlock groaned.

"Would you stop underestimating yourself?"

"I'm not, I'm just being realistic. You're good, I'm bad. You're the man that examines bodies, I'm the woman that puts them there. What if one day, you will be the one I'll put there, and there will be no one to examine it?" her voice was trembling a bit, and her eyes were bright.

"No, calm down." Sherlock got up from his chair and kneeled next to her.

"Don't ask me to calm down. Why should I? Every single moment I spend next to you, you're in danger." she said frantically.

He stroked her cheek.

"I love you." she whispered to him, with a truly frightened look.

Sherlock nodded, and leaned forward in order to kiss her lightly. Then, he whispered something in her ear, and she smiled. It wasn't difficult to guess what he said.

"You really do love each other, don't you? As bizarre as it is, you somehow do."

"We do, don't we?" she asked quietly with a small smile, as a small tear ran down her face.

The couple simply looked at each other quietly, but the look they both had made John think of what Mycroft had said – and even to agree with it.

She could kill the entire London, and she'll still love Sherlock.

He wondered if Sherlock felt the same way.

He knew he did.


	23. Chapter 23

Roxanne woke up to the sound of a phone ringing. An unknown number was calling.

"Hello?"

"_Hello, is this Roxanne Williams?_"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"_Greg. Greg Lestrade. The man you're filling in for?_"

Of course she knew who he was. But she was afraid of what he has to say.

"Yes, of course."

"_I just wanted to let you know that I'm coming back tomorrow._"

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence on both of the sides, as neither knew what to say next.

"Bye." she eventually mumbled and hung up.

She leaned back and let her head fall back on the hard pillow.

She had two options, as usual. She could leave and move on to a new police station, or she could choose to stay there permanently.

She could let Sherlock get on with his life, or she could become a permanent part of his life.

She knew what the clever thing to do was. But it wasn't the thing she wanted to do.


	24. Chapter 24

"Good morning, Roxanne." John said as she walked quickly towards them. He learned to like her, even though in seemed completely impossible at the beginning.

"Good morning." she said without really looking at him. Her eyes were on his, but they weren't focused.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course it is. Let's go, there's work to be done."

Sherlock tried deducing the matter out of her, but the answer seemed to be unseen to him. He decided to let her tell him what it is herself.


	25. Chapter 25

The three walked in an open field. They could feel the moist grass being crushed beneath their feet, and Roxanne quietly blessed herself for not going with heels just this once. Donovan, on the other hand, hadn't made such a decision, and she struggled not to stumble.

A man's body laid on the grass, under a large Ulmus tree, facing the sky.

Donovan, frightened from his wide-opened eyes, tried to stay as far from the body as possible.

"You start." Roxanne said to Sherlock, still unfocused and thinking of the decision she must make.

The detective bent over the corpse.

"Around thirty years old. One stab to the shoulder, made by a butcher knife. Multiple stabs to the heart, made by the same weapon."

As he finished describing the body, he frowned. The situation was familiar to him, for some reason. He thought of entering his mind palace, that perhaps this would lead him to the answer, but after just a second someone else reminded him where he had seen this before.

"No. No, this isn't possible. This can't happen." the red-headed said in shock and confusion, and took a step back from the body.

"What happened?" the doctor asked worriedly.

"This is why the description is familiar to me, isn't it?"

"Lift up his shirt." she urged nervously.

"What?" Donovan asked confused.

"I said – lift up his shirt." her voice was trembling, like her hands.

The doctor bent over the corpse and uncovered the man's stomach. As he did, a large and long cut was revealed.

Roxanne gasped, and put her hand to cover her mouth. She was shaking, her cheeks were blushed, and her eyes were filled with tears. But those weren't tears of sorrow, nor of pain. They were tears of true terror.

"No, no, no…" she started murmuring and started shaking her head.

Sherlock immediately got up and walked to her.

"Sherlock – what's going on?"

"This man's cause of death, this man's murder, is exactly identical to one of her murders. She killed a man under exactly the exactly same circumstances once."

John was startled, but Donovan was still in the dark.

"So? This doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Sherlock glared at her. He opened his mouth to yell at her, but Roxanne started talking before he managed to.

"This could have been insignificant, if it wasn't for the cut in his stomach. This…" she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down, as her voice was shaking too much to speak. "This cut, it's my signature. I make this cut in everyone I kill."

"_Killed_." John corrected.

"Why?" Donovan asked, a bit tactlessly, but that was the question that was in Sherlock's mind as well.

The woman pulled her shirt out of the skirt she was wearing and lifted it a bit. She revealed a long, ugly scar, of a cut identical to the one on the body.

"Funny, isn't it? The only survivor of a serial killer, becomes one herself. A bit ironic when you think about it." she said with a frantic smile.

"You didn't tell me." Sherlock whispered.

"You never asked." she said with a shaking voice, and as she tucked the shirt back in the skirt, she started crying quietly.

"So why did they do it?" John asked. As bad as he felt asking this, they had to solve it.

"They want me to leave." she said quietly in agony.

"What? _Leave_?" Sherlock asked, a bit shocked, but mostly angry.

"Lestrade's coming back tomorrow. I can either stay, or move on to the next police station that needs my help. Whoever did this clearly want me to leave."

"Well, you're not leaving."

"I have to, Sherlock."

"No, you don't!" Donovan burst. "We'll find whoever did this, and we'll arrest him, and you'll stay. Did you hear me?"

The men were surprised by her reaction. Neither of them knew she cared so much until this very moment.

"Did you hear me?" she asked again, as her friend didn't answer.

Roxanne stood there, staring at the body in silence. She didn't answer. In fact, she didn't seem to hear them.

"Alright, it seems we're not investigating today." Sherlock said, and put his hand around her.

"But we have to catch him – whoever did this!"

"Not today."

The detective and the girl he loved walked away from the large tree, and after a moment and an apologizing look towards Donovan, the doctor quickly followed them.


	26. Chapter 26

"Why here?" John asked, as they entered the regular room in St. Barts.

"There is clearly someone after her. Someone who knows her well. She can't go home, and not to our flat as well. This is the first place that came to my mind."

Roxanne numbly sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs. Sherlock walked around in the room.

"Anyone hungry?" John asked, trying to break the silence.

"No. If you are, you can go and eat something, and come back once you're finished." Sherlock said without looking at him.

"Alright. It won't take long." he said, but as neither of the people in the room answered, he simply walked out.

"I have to go packing." she said quietly.

"No, you don't."

Roxanne could feel how her cheeks blush, and he blood pumping faster in her veins.

"Yes, I do. Are you blind? There's someone out there that killed a man just to send me that message!" she yelled at him.

"Alright, calm down."

"I can't calm down!" she yelled, and then her expression changed at she thought of her words.

She felt as if she really can't calm down.

"How long has it been?" she asked urgently.

"What?"

"My medication – I need to take it every other day. How long has it been since the last time I've taken it?"

Sherlock's face became gloomy.

"Three days."

"Sherlock, I can't calm down. I can't." she said with clear fear in her voice.

Her heart was beating faster and faster, and she felt like she's losing control of herself. And she knew what always happens next.

"Get out of here." she hissed.

"What? No. I'm not leaving you."

"Sherlock Holmes, I love you. Now get the hell out of here."

Sherlock could hear how much effort she made in order to remain as calm as possible.

She put her hair up in a ponytail, an action that only later on he understood the purpose of.

"I'm not going anywhere. Did you hear me? I'm staying right here."

"Are you _deaf_? I can kill you!"

"No, I heard you. And I believe you, especially because you're incapable of lying to me. But I'm not leaving you. We'll get over it."

An old man entered the room, and judging by his clothes, his hair, his expression and his eyebrows Sherlock realized he works there.

Roxanne pounced towards the man, grabbing a scalpel that was on the table.

As the man's expression changed as he realized what was happening, Sherlock jumped on her and wrapped his arms around her. She was paralyzed, unable to move any closer to the man.

She struggled against him, and pushed him to the floor. He didn't lose hold of her, and they both fell down.

Roxanne screamed in pain.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked worriedly, and took his arms of her so he could spin her to make her face him.

As soon as he did, she put her hand on his head, and smashed it against the floor.

Everything went dark.


	27. Chapter 27

Sherlock opened his eyes into small cracks. His head was hurting him. It took him a moment to remember what happened.

His ears started functioning again, and he could hear sobs.

Loud, painful sobs.

He fully opened his eyes, and straightened up into a sitting position.

His head was spinning, but he didn't care.

He stood up, and put his hand on the table immediately to balance himself. Once his head stopped spinning, he paced towards the sobs.

Roxanne was sitting against the wall, sobbing loudly. After a few more steps, the reason to her agony was revealed to him.

The body of the old man laid on the floor. His throat was cut open, and there was a large cut made in his stomach.

Roxanne was wearing gloves, his gloves, so she won't leave any fingerprints, and thanks to her ponytail, she won't leave any hair behind as well.

The gloves were covered in blood. And so were her clothes and her face. Cutting the carotid always causes a lot of mess.

"Roxanne…" Sherlock tried to say, but his voice broke.

Now he could he see why she tried so hard to stay away from him.

The reason he was interested in her at the beginning, the reason she was so attractive to him, was now staring at his face. He was in love with a killer, which refused to hurt him, but hurt everyone else.

He was now aware of all of that, but it didn't change his feelings towards her. Not even one bit.

"You should go." she mumbled in a choked voice between her sobs.

"No, I'm not going."

"Please, Sherlock." she begged him.

"No." he said, and tears filled his eyes. Why did this feel like she's leaving him?

"Sherlock, I can't do this anymore. I can't hurt you anymore. I can't hurt anyone anymore."

He couldn't hold back his tears any longer, and he let them flow down his face.

"I love you, Roxanne Williams." he said with a shaking voice.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Which is why I can't let you stay here. Stay with me."

"Don't leave me." he begged.

She shook her head.

"There's no other choice."

"Yes, there is! We can fight! We'll get through this. They won't arrest you over this. I'll make sure of it. We'll hide the body. We can run away and –"

"I'm sick of hiding, Sherlock. I'm sorry." she said.

Both of them were crying now. Neither of them wanted the other to leave, but only one knew it was for the best.

"Alright, I'm going." he said darkly.

"I'll miss you."

"I will, too."


	28. Chapter 28

Sherlock stood outside of the same room the next day, together with John and Donovan.

"Why am I here?" Sherlock asked. Of course he knew why he was there.

"There's something you should see." Donovan said gloomily.

She opened the door, and they entered.

There were two bodies in the room.

Next to the man, laid Roxanne Williams.

The scar on her stomach was now an open wound. She opened it and bled out.

"Oh, god." John said, startled.

Sherlock was paralyzed.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

He opened his mouth to say he is, but then he closed it.

A single tear ran down his face.

"I love you, Roxanne Williams. I'll miss you too."


End file.
